


the artist at work

by mae428



Series: inside together [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae428/pseuds/mae428
Summary: Armie groaned as he watched Tim apply the glittery goop to his cupid’s bow. If he were fifteen years younger he’d probably have Timmy back on his knees again. “Will you do that to me one day?”“What, put makeup on you?”“Mmh. Fucking hot.”Timmy just laughed, leaving a glossy lip print behind on Armie’s cheek before sauntering back to their table. He hadn’t thought Armie was serious, not until he asked again the morning after.





	the artist at work

**Author's Note:**

> basically just needed to ramble after all of these timmy looks feat. makeup  
unbeta'd, unedited, just words.

“Aww, c’mon Tim,” Armie whines from his spot on the bed, “do I have to?”

“Stop displaying such toxic masculinity,” Timmy scolds, although there’s an undercurrent of deep affection in his tone. There’s no doubt Armie has already agreed to this, but he’s just being a stubborn baby. Timmy tugs his hand again, trying to get Armie to stand up. “Just come into Pauline’s room, okay? The lighting is better in there.”

Armie huffs and pushes up off of Timmy’s childhood bed, following him down the hall to Pauline’s abandoned room. They’re in New York for a bit, and with Timmy’s parents visiting Pauline in France, Armie and Timmy have been tasked with watching over things in their absence. “Where’d you get all that anyway?” Armie asks, nodding toward the oversized makeup bag clutched in Timmy’s other hand. He looks down at Tim’s bare feet, notes the way he creeps down the hallway just like Elio: quiet and cautious and filled with apprehensive excitement.

“Saoirse gave it to me,” he says as he pushes open the door to Pauline’s room. He throws a glance over his shoulder, grinning as Armie comes up right behind him and nuzzles his cheek.

“After you nicked all that stuff from your photoshoot?”

“Shut up,” Tim huffs, abandoning Armie in the doorway to make his way into the room.

Pauline’s room, unlike Timmy’s, is pristine. She hasn’t been home for a while, so of course, it’s clean, but it’s also an untouched Memoriam to her childhood. There are ballet posters and cutouts from various French magazines on the walls, her bed is perfectly made with a lavender duvet, the clothing rack in the corner is not totally barren, a few pieces still hanging. Tim is by the window, leaning against the sill as he waits for Armie to finish exploring. There’s a combination desk-vanity just next to it, complete with large bulbs around the mirror.

Tim kicks out the stool and nods to it. “Sit. Facing me.”

Armie folds himself onto the chair, unsurprised to find that he barely fits at a teenage girl’s desk. At least he doesn’t have to stick his legs under. He spreads his thighs when Timmy kicks at the space between his legs. The makeup bag drops ominously onto the table and Armie closes his eyes as Tim pulls the zipper open. Timmy takes a step forward, nestling himself in the vee Armie’s spread legs.

“So what’ll it be, Chalamet? Red lipstick?”

“You’re being a dick,” Timmy scolds with a flick to Armie’s ear. “Besides, you asked me to do this.”

That part was true. They’d gone out for dinner the other night and Armie only noticed Timmy’s eyeliner once it was running down his face during a particularly fantastic blowjob in the bathroom.

“I can’t believe I just blew you in the bathroom of Le Bernardin,” Timmy said afterward as he wiped at the streaks of black under his eyes. Luckily it was a private bathroom, and Armie crowded in behind him, watching as Tim reapplied the kohl liner to his lashline.

“With the way you were eating those oysters…” he trailed off and kissed down Timmy’s neck. “How do you do that without poking out your eye?”

“It’s easy,” Tim said, quickly exchanging the eyeliner for some lipgloss.

Armie groaned as he watched Tim apply the glittery goop to his cupid’s bow. If he were fifteen years younger he’d probably have Timmy back on his knees again. “Will you do that to me one day?”

“What, put makeup on you?”

“Mmh. Fucking hot.”

Timmy just laughed, leaving a glossy lip print behind on Armie’s cheek before sauntering back to their table. He hadn’t thought Armie was serious, not until he asked again the morning after.

Now, with their free afternoon, Timmy decided it was just the right time to zhuzh Armie up.

Armie startles a bit at the first touch, but it’s just Timmy blotting something cool onto his skin. He shaved that morning, and the lotion or whatever feels pleasant on his face.

“It’s just primer,” Timmy murmurs, and Armie can hear the amusement in his voice. “I’m using my fingertips,” he says, as if Armie can’t tell. “How do you keep your skin so perfect?”

“I dunno, I wash my face?”

“Dick,” Timmy repeats. “Seriously, you don’t even need any concealer.”

Armie feels a sponge next as Timmy dabs product onto his skin. “I thought you said I didn’t need concealer.”

“This is  _ BB cream _ ,” Timmy clarifies. “Just a little coverage so we can bring out your natural glow.” Timmy finishes with a sponge and then pecks the tip of Armie’s nose. “Okay, next. Blush.”

“Blush?!” Armie repeats, about to reel away. But then Tim is cupping his jaw and he feels incredibly soft bristles on his cheek. He leans into it, letting Timmy drag the brush over his right cheek, and then the left. When he feels another brush, smaller this time, gliding along his cheekbone, he wrinkles his nose. “What’s that?”

“Highlighter. Just a little bit of shimmer.” Tim wriggles the same brush over the bridge of Armie’s nose.

Tim goes silent and Armie doesn’t feel anything on his skin for a few seconds. He sits there patiently with his eyes closed, but there’s only so much waiting he can take. “Tim -”

“Shh, I’m trying to figure out eyeshadow.” Timmy is quiet again and so Armie behaves, falling silent and trying to relax as Timmy begins searching through the makeup bag. 

God, he loves this kid. So fucking much. He would never let anyone else put makeup on him, aside from what he needs for photoshoots or award shows or while he’s on set. But this is so different, so intimate. Just for the two of them. He wondered what he’d look like with more than just a little undereye concealer. Would he look like Timmy, like a fucking woodland nymph? Or would he look more like Mick Jagger? Or would he just look like an out of practice drag queen? Whatever he looked like, he was sure it wouldn’t come close to how gorgeous Tim was with a little makeup. When the first pictures from Busan hit, in that stupidly sexy overall bullshit, Armie had immediately texted Timmy.

_ something is different  
_ _ why do you look like this????  
_ _ what the FUCK did you do, chalamet?  
_ _ LIPGLOSS  
_ __ ARE YOU WEARING LIPGLOSS?  
_ you fucking…  
_ __ i’m gonna fucken…

That had been months ago, and Timmy had only gotten more daring since then. He admitted to Armie that his interest had been piqued during the Entertainment Weekly photo shoot. Wearing women’s clothes, sitting patiently as the hair and makeup team worked their magic, while Saoirse just chilled out in her menswear. Timmy had said it was exhilarating when he first saw himself. Armie wonders if he’d feel the same.

He flinches when he feels something soft touch his eyelid. “Hey, it’s just me,” comes Tim’s soft voice from in front of him. “Just a little grey in the crease,” he says, working over the spot with the brush, “to bring out the blue.” He works on the crease of each of Armie’s eyelids before dabbing a smaller brush under his brown. “A little highlighter here…” He trails off and then there’s a brush sweeping over his eyelid. “And something a little silvery here.”

Armie can tell Tim is doing a lot more than just that, if his multiple brushstrokes are anything to go by. He feels Timmy step back a bit, and Armie automatically reaches out, blindly grasping for Tim’s waist.

“Not going anywhere,” he promises. He takes Armie’s chin in his hands, tilting his head this way and that, “just want to make sure it looks okay.” 

After a minute or so, Armie guesses Tim is pleased, because he steps back between Armie’s legs. He makes a satisfied sound once the warmth is back, and Tim chuckles. This is starting to feel like the beginning of subspace, Armie belatedly realizes, as he arches into Tim’s fingers where they’re scratching along his scalp.

“How are you feeling?” Timmy asks, and Armie thinks Tim must realize the same. “Still with me?” Armie just hums and Tim tugs at his hair, just enough to get Armie’s attention. “Words.”

“Good,” Armie sighs. “Feels good to let go.”

“I know,” Timmy coos, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Armie’s head.

The past few months have been fucking stressful. The divorce, the kids, shooting schedules, seeing Timmy, getting interviews in… Armie feels like he hasn’t had a chance to truly relax, not until now. It’s usually Timmy under his dominating hand, but Tim is a fantastic partner, and he knows exactly when Armie needs to go down too. He feels so at ease in the confines of Pauline’s vanity stool with Timmy right between his legs, ever so gently sweeping product onto his face.

“Okay.” Armie can hear Timmy rustling around in the makeup bag again, “I’m gonna put some liner on your lash line, so I’m gonna need you to open your eyes and look up for me.”

Armie does as he’s told and his eyes flutter open, immediately casting his gaze up toward the ceiling. It’s different than when he’s on his knees for Timmy, during which he’s usually looking down at the floor, but similar in that he doesn’t meet Tim’s eyes.

“Good boy,” Timmy whispers, the praise coming so easily. It makes Armie’s breath hitch. Tim’s thumb presses right under Armie’s right eye and he gently tugs down. “Let me know if this bothers you. Try not to blink.”

But Armie blinks immediately as the pencil hits his waterline. It feels funny, like there’s an eyelash stuck there, and he whines and wiggles.

“Stay still or else I’ll have to start over. I know it’s uncomfortable at first.” Armie tries to do as he’s told and stay still as Tim runs the pencil back and forth. “That’s it, you’re doing so well.” As soon as Tim’s hand is out of the way, Armie blinks rapidly, trying to clear his eye of any discomfort. “I’m just going to do the top bit and then we can work on the other eye, okay?”

Tim is so patient with him, working the pencil over his lashes in quick and gentle motions, putting up with Armie’s squirms. Tim steps back once he’s done but Armie keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Look at me.”

Armie does so, his eyes closing briefly before he opens them and looks right at Timmy. He’s bathed in sunlight streaming in from the window behind him. He looks saintlike, the perfect image for a votive candle. Armie vows to pray to him every day.

“Perfect.” Timmy comes back between Armie’s legs just as he pulls out a tube of mascara. “Look straight, right at my chest.” Armie does so as Timmy applies it to his lashes, and he keeps his gaze there as Tim works on grooming his brows with some sort of gel. “It’s called boy brow, by glossier.” He sweeps the tiny wand over Armie’s left brow. “It’s amazing, especially when I haven’t gotten them waxed in a while.

Tim digs around in his bag again before taking out his eyeshadow palette again. He has Armie close his eyes, talking as he blends a few spots of the eyeshadow. Armie can’t really keep up with the conversation, his mind just a blank and warm fuzz as Tim’s voice washes over him. Timmy usually does this. He knows how much his voice grounds Armie, especially when they’re apart.

“Okay, now the fun part,” Timmy says. He hears more rustling in the bag as Tim drags his free thumb over Armie’s bottom lip. He lets his tongue slip out and he laps at the pad of Timmy’s finger, which earns him a soft laugh. "What color for my Armie, hmm? You know, I got that Tom Ford color, Armie. I haven't worn it for you yet. But sometimes I do, when I'm alone." Tim's finger is gone but it's soon replaced by a smooth substance gliding over his lower lip. "Nothing so bold today, though."

After Tim is done with the lipstick, he follows it up with a sticky gloss. "My favorite," Tim clarifies. "I'll give you the name for the next time you need to buy me a gift."

Before Armie can respond, Timmy is out of reach again, having stepped back toward the window. "Look at me?" he says again, softer this time.

Armie opens his eyes. His lashes feel heavy, almost, and he's not sure if it's from the mascara or the cloud of subspace.

"Oh, Armie." Timmy steps forward again and slips himself onto Armie's lap, fitting himself perfectly on thick thighs. "You wanna see yourself, baby?" Armie nods and Tim pokes his cheek with the tip of his nose. "Go ahead."

Armie turns his head and meets his own gaze in the mirror.  _ Holy fuck _ . He barely recognizes himself. There isn't much makeup on his face, just enough to highlight his features, just like Timmy promised. He tilts his head to the side, examining Timmy's handiwork.

"How do you feel?" Tim comes into view and Armie watches in the mirror as he presses gentle kisses along his cheek.

"Beautiful," Armie sighs. 

"Mmhm, that's right. You are." He nuzzles Armie's cheek and then nips at his ear. "What's your favorite part?"

Armie leans forward, his arms coming to Tim's waist to hold him in place as he looks closer. "I like the lipgloss better on you." He's not sure about that part. It makes his lips stick together and it tastes like chemically altered peaches. 

Timmy tsks. "I asked what your favorite was."

"My eyes," Armie says immediately, unable to deny Timmy. He knows how much Tim hates when Armie is overly self-critical, but it's hard to hate himself when he looks like  _ this _ .

"Yeah, me too. Grey really brings out your eyes. And I used a brown liner on you. Less harsh." Timmy makes a pleased sound and rests his head on Armie's shoulder. "You're so good for me, baby."

Armie watches them in the mirror with heavy-lidded eyes. For now, only he and Timmy exist, snuggled up on the sliver of reflective glass. Everything else has faded away: the din of the city, the decorations in Pauline's room, all of the stressors that they've been dealing with for so fucking long. Armie blinks and then tilts his head to rest it against the top of Timmy's, watching as the shimmer on his cheek catches the light.

He feels small, delicate, loved. As a switch, he knows that seeing him in subspace gives Timmy pleasure, just as it does when Timmy is in this floaty space. He likes being here, down under, with Timmy by his side, literally and metaphorically. But he's never felt like this before, so  _ pretty _ , even if Timmy reminds him how gorgeous he is every chance he gets.

"What do you want?" Tim asks, his voice right up against Armie's ear. It startles him a little; he hadn't realized his eyes closed again. 

"You."

"You wanna go back to my room?"

Armie shifts a little. He's surprisingly comfortable on the small stool with Timmy on his lap. But the small part of him that's still  _ here _ knows that Tim probably doesn't want to have sex in his sister's room. 

"Need to stay with me for just a little longer, okay? Can you answer me?"

"Your room." It comes out as a whisper, Armie still caught up with looking at his reflection.

He’s vaguely aware of Timmy standing and taking his hand, but his body doesn't move from the chair. Of course it doesn't, it's not like Timmy can easily throw him into a fireman's carry.

"Are you coming or what?" Timmy's voice is soft and sweet, filled with amusement as he looks down at Armie.

"Can we try gold eyeshadow next time?"

"Oh, Armie," Timmy sighs, gathering him up in an almost smothering hug. He whines, somewhere registering that he'll mess up the makeup. "We can try anything you want, my perfect, beautiful,  _ wonderful _ Armie. Anything. Anything for you." Tim kisses the top of his head before taking his hand again. "Come on, my room now."

Armie follows Timmy back down the hallway, barely managing to not trip over his own feet as he stares at the back of Timmy's neck.

"Undress and kneel," Timmy instructs once the door is closed. "Facing the bed."

Armie does as he's told, remembering to fold his clothes over the back of Timmy's desk chair. He kneels on the hardwood floor, staring down at the foot of Timmy's bed. He's there long enough that his eyes fall shut. He gasps as Timmy's hand comes into contact with his hair and he only just then registers how desperate for contact he was. 

"You're so pretty for me," Timmy praises. Armie’s nose is suddenly being pressed against Tim's bare stomach. It's a little firmer than when they were in Italy, but that was so long ago. Tim's grown since then. They both have. "Do you like having pretty makeup on? Does it make you feel good?"

Armie nods and flicks out his tongue, grazing it along a bit of soft skin.

"Go on, put those pretty lips around my cock."

Armie does as he's told, opening his mouth for Timmy to feed him his cock. The glide is slow and sticky due to the gloss, and there's a hint of fruity flavor from the gloss mixed with the familiar taste of Timmy. It makes Armie groan, which just causes Tim to push further into Armie's mouth. His lips hit Timmy's pubic hair, and he gags. Tim lets up for only a second before he's pushing right back.

"That's it, take it. Good." One hand stays firmly planted in his hair, but Timmy's free hand wanders down to Armie's throat, his thumb resting just at his windpipe. "Very good."

As Timmy begins fucking his throat, Armie sinks even deeper. He loves this bit, the final push until he’s totally under, relinquishing all control as Tim tightens his grip on his hair. Timmy continues his whispered praise and Armie lets the words surround him, cushion him in his little corner of the world.

“I’m close Armie,” Timmy says suddenly. It’s lower, a bit growly, and Armie preens. He loves it when Timmy goes full Dom, hands wound tight in his hair and around his neck. “Gonna cum down your throat. You’re gonna be good and swallow it all, right, baby?”

Armie just hums his assent, unable to say much else with his mouth stuffed full of cock. He knows he can tap out at any time. Just a pinch to Timmy’s thigh and he’d be able to breathe normally. And Timmy would probably drop right down onto the floor with him and immediately wrap him in a thousand blankets. But he had no plans to tap out. He loved this too much. He loved the feeling of his throat getting raw, his lips going numb, the spit dripping down his chin, Timmy’s pubic hair tickling the tip of his nose, the mascara heavy on his eyelids, the tears (which he was sure were black) streaking his cheeks.

His mouth was suddenly flooded with cum, and he spluttered a little as Timmy fucked his release into the back of Armie’s throat. Timmy is whispering again, probably saying how pretty and how good Armie is. He just kneels there and takes it, swallowing around Timmy’s cock, savoring the taste.

When Timmy finally pulls out, Armie gasps for air in an attempt to catch his breath. He tilts his head back a little, as much as he can with Tim’s hand still wrapped around his throat.

“Open your eyes, look at me.”

Armie does as he’s told and he looks up at Timmy through bleary eyes. He spares a thought to his eye makeup, briefly wishing they’d taken a picture before it all ran down his cheeks. Timmy must see the disappointment flash across his face.

“Aw, baby. I can redo it later,” he says, letting his hand drop from Armie’s hair. He drags his thumb over the tears on Armie’s cheek instead. “But  _ fuck _ you look good like this.” Timmy folds himself down onto the floor in front of Armie, also pushing Armie to relax and sit back on his heels. “You’re so perfect for me,” Timmy is whispering, and Armie finds himself getting pulled in for a warm kiss. It’s soft and sweet and Armie absolutely melts into Timmy’s grasp. “You’ve no idea,” Tim says between kisses, “how much you mean to me. How much I love you. Wanna make you see.”  _ Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.  _ “How perfect you are. How wonderful you are, Armie Hammer.”

Armie chokes a little, his emotions getting the better of him. He tries to shuffle closer to Timmy, wanting to be encased in him, wanting Timmy to wrap all of his stupidly long limbs around him and never let go.

“Come on. Bed.” Tim stands and helps Armie up, ushering him onto the bed, on top of the covers. “What do you want?” he asks, even though Armie feels like he’s beyond words right now. “Want me to eat you out? Suck you off?” Tim kisses over Armie’s collarbone as he stretches out over him, his hand wandering down to Armie’s cock. “Oh, baby,” Timmy sighs when his hand comes into contact with Armie’s dick. It’s hard and leaking and Armie lets out a strangled moan. “I think we can make quick work of getting you off, hmm?”

Armie just nods, giving Timmy all the permission he needs to jack him off. Armie knows it’ll be over quick, but he doesn’t care. He’s aching for release, and Timmy’s deft fingers have him hurtling closer and closer with every passing second.

“You’re so wet for me,” Timmy murmurs against Armie’s parted lips. He’s gasping for air, soft little whines coming out with each exhale. “Are you close? You gonna cum?”

Armie nods and makes another pained sound. His hands are balled in the duvet, the fabric preventing him from digging his nails straight through the skin on his palms. Timmy’s hands are sinful. Armie has told him that since the very first day after watching those delicate fingers dance over black and white keys. If they’re not around his cock or inside him, Armie prefers Tim’s fingers in his mouth, keeping him quiet as he’s fucked into the mattress. Or, on the opposite end, he likes them wrapped up in rope or red silk, straining against the bonds as Armie spanks him.

“Go on, let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. Armie spills over Timmy’s hand and his own stomach, a cry wrenched out of his chest as he does so. He’s thankful no one is home, his moans and whimpers ringing out in the room as his entire body tightens and spasms. Timmy strokes him through it, even rubs his palm over the sensitive head of Armie’s cock once he’s finished cumming. Tim’s always had a bit of a  _ thing _ for post-orgasm torture, and they’ve spent many afternoons figuring out just how many orgasms they can wring out from one another.

But it’s too much and Armie begins to cry as he attempts to wriggle away. Tim’s hand is off his cock in an instant and he’s instead reaching for a tissue.”Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Timmy soothes, wiping his own hand before dabbing at the mess on Armie’s stomach.

Armie doesn’t care about that, though, he just wants to curl up in his boyfriend’s arms. So he turns onto his side and tries to bury his tear-streaked face into Timmy’s chest. 

“Okay, I’ve got you.” Timmy tosses the tissue off the side of the bed in order to wrap his arms around Armie instead. “Let it out, Armie. You’re good, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Armie curls in on himself, trying to fold himself up small enough so that Timmy can encase him. And Timmy does so to the best of his ability and even shimmies them under the covers in order to cocoon the bit of Armie he can’t reach.

He cries and cries, letting out his pent up emotions as he comes down from his high, his body rife with endorphins. It feels like he’s just been on a rollercoaster, and even after the tears have subsided he still feels shakey.

“Hey, you really needed that, huh?” Timmy asks once Armie’s stopped crying. “I’m sorry, Armie. Should have known. Should have put you down sooner.”

Armie just shakes his head, unaccepting of Timmy’s apology since it’s not even needed in the first place. They’ve talked about this al lot: Armie needing to let Tim know when he needs to go down. Timmy has gotten better at recognizing the signs, but it’s a two-way street, and Armie knows that better than anyone.

Armie takes a few stuttering breaths and he lifts his head a bit so he can look up at Tim. “Thank you,” he manages, his voice a bit scratchy.

“You are so welcome, darling,” Timmy coos with a kiss to Armie’s forehead for good measure. “Are you okay if I get up for a second? I just want to get some makeup remover and water.

Armie nods but also snuggles closer, which makes Timmy laugh.

“I can stay, but I don’t want the makeup to bother your eyes.”

“ ‘m okay. Just come back.”

“I’ll always come back,” Timmy swears, his voice fierce and low, a promise just for them within the comforts of Timmy’s duvet. He kisses Armie’s forehead again. “One minute, I promise.”

Armie is left in the warmth of the blankets, falling in and out of awareness. Timmy comes back rather quickly, having kept the necessary supplies close by, and the next thing Armie is conscious of, there’s something wet and cool gliding across his cheeks.

“Wha’s that?”

“Just makeup remover,” Timmy soothes. “Keep your eyes closed for me, baby.” He wipes off the eye makeup and Armie makes a soft sound. “What?”

“Wanted to see what it looks like.”

“Beautiful,” Tim answers with a kiss to Armie’s cheek. “You looked beautiful. Just for me, Armie.” Once his face is cleaned to Timmy’s satisfaction, he moves onto cleaning Armie’s stomach and chest. Once Tim is done, Armie is being ushered into a sitting position. “Just some water, okay? Can you open your eyes?”

It takes a second, and Armie’s eyes feel funny now that they’ve been cleaned, but his eyes flutter open to find Timmy bathed in warm, late afternoon sunlight. His thought from earlier comes back to him: Timmy belongs on a prayer candle.

“Blessed be,” Armie mumbles, much to Timmy’s amusement.

“You’re ridiculous. Now drink.”

Armie does as he’s told, taking some sips of cool water before Timmy is pushing them both back down onto the pillows. He feels warm and tingly all over, still floating somewhere in his subspace. He’s not worried about coming down, though, not worried about  _ anything _ for the first time in what feels like months. Timmy is whispering in his ear, something about an eyeshadow palette he wants. Armie hopes his brain retains some of this info for later so he can place an order through Sephora, or wherever the fuck you buy the Naked palette.  _ Naked palette? _ Armie huffs a soft laugh and Timmy kisses his cheek before getting right back into it, now going off about lipgloss. Armie sighs contentedly, hoping Timmy is willing to share his brushes.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think, but be kind


End file.
